(PAGE ONE) CHAPTER TWO

Last time I said this I was crying I'm not afraid to say it, the last time I said this, I was crying Inner child beating on my rib cage I remember it so vivid, so vivid up until this day The last time I said this I was crying And as that tear rolled down my cheek Past the lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow I didn’t understand what they had planned for me tomorrow The last time I said this It was a cold day in September Exchanging words with a friend Outside a church, if I can remember And a person I hold close words Now paraphrased in text Said my art wasn't worth the figures written on a cheque Instantly a rage built up inside of me Making me blind to see the third can of Strongbow she had sipped Which in turn making her blind to much her words may have ripped They said I was born with a gift I said I was cursed with talent Then left alone to manage. Alone. No direction. No recipe, so I grafted. Slammed through page after page, went to meeting after meeting Listened to every lecture thrown my vicinity and then some– 'Till out of all my pores oozed creativity But unlike Da Vinci, I found beauty in a lack of symmetry I crafted myself into the Vitruvian man And asked the world, "What do you see?" A response was given loosely: Radiance. Like I was the new Basquiat staring at the untitled skull Like it was a portrait of me Warm on a surface, sporting an expression that makes you question Is it all worth it? For you, I've given my mind, body & spirit So it's safe to say I'm yet to see my worth defined by a digit. The last time I said this I was crying I'm not afraid to say it, the last time I said this I was crying. Who else can I trust to write my legacy but me? I may never be the greatest But I will be the greatest success story the world has ever seen